Aaqib Majid
Every morning, I saw him beside the metro station—the same tree, the same frayed blanket, the same two dogs nestled in his lap like jigsaw pieces.
He never made any requests. They sat silently, caressing their ears as the city hurried by.
But I slowed down today.
I have no idea why. It might have been the way one of the dogs gazed up at me, half sleeping, with one tail thumping. Or perhaps it was the way the man held the food container, leaning it gently in their direction as if it were a delicate piece of china.
I gave him a cup of coffee.
He gave a headshake. He stated, “They eat first.” “Always.”
The bag caught my attention as I knelt down to pet the little one.
It was hefty, black, and worn at the edges, but it zipped tightly. As if there were something significant within. “Got gold in there?” I joked.
He grinned kindly but wearily. “Just recollections.”
He hesitated, then unzipped it halfway.
There was a big folder inside. A snapshot, a fading envelope, and neatly arranged documents.
Two children.
And a woman I knew but couldn’t identify.
Confused, I looked up.
He nodded to the dogs after tapping the picture.
He answered, “She sent them.” “After.”
“What comes next?” I inquired.
He didn’t respond, though.
I just reached into the folder and took out a document that had an official seal on it, one that I had previously seen when I signed my own document years ago.
And my name appeared in looping lettering, right there at the bottom.
I gazed at it, then at him again. “You’re…?”
He gave a nod. “Your foster brother was me. prior to the mishap.
Like a tsunami, the words struck. Now I recalled the family I had been placed with following the death of my parents. The elder lad who had always protected me. The person who vanished following the collision.
I had no idea what had become of him. I was unaware that he was still living with the consequences of those years.
He grinned once again, a knowing, melancholy smile. even if it took forever.
With the years bearing down on me, I sat down next to him. Unaware of the reunion taking place on the pavement, the city around us carried on with its bustle.
However, time seemed to stop for us at that precise moment.
His hand shook a little when he gave me the picture. I looked closely at the woman—the warmth in her eyes, the lovely smile. “That’s her,” he whispered quietly. “The one who protected us.” the person who kept us all together.
“Love is quiet, like feeding someone else before yourself,” she used to say.
My eyes were burning. I examined him, taking in his wayward beard, weary eyes, and the age-worn injuries on his body. But I saw him beneath it all. The boy who tells me stories when I’m terrified, who once took the blame for something I did, and who used to share snacks with me in the dark.
“How did this happen?” I pointed to his place on the sidewalk, the tattered blanket, and the world going past as I questioned.
He remarked, “Life isn’t a straight road.” Some of us lose our way. Until I had something to offer, I didn’t want to find you. However, she— He gestured toward a dog. She located me. And I understood that perhaps I had already been located.
The dogs were now stretched out on both of our laps, unconcerned with the weight of the situation, and we sat in silence. “I still remember your birthday,” he replied, almost in a whisper. May 18. You used to request pancakes with blueberries.
The sound of my laughter caught in my throat. “Do you still recall that?”
He declared, “I remember everything.” “It’s the contents of the bag.”
I was at a loss for words. But I was aware of what to do.
I got to my feet and extended a hand.
I said, “Come on.” “Come, let’s get some pancakes.”
His eyes were wide with a mixture of gratitude and incredulity as he gazed at me. He then grasped my hand.
We brought the memories, the dogs, and the bag.
Large gestures are not always necessary for reunions.
They only require a moment at times.
And someone who slows down at last.